electric top tango
by pixie paramount
Summary: The parties and that classic Hollywood romance. Right here, in the Big Apple. — Kairi/Olette. Big City!AU. Contest!fic, for Loren. Ficlet.


**STANDARD DISCLAIMER APPLIED. **

**electric top tango  
****by:** _pixie paramount_ (5/7/2008, 7:43 PM)  
_Kingdom Hearts_, Kairi/Olette & it's my party

* * *

She likes watching old movies with stars like Bogie and Baby. She likes to dance on counter-tops to old Blue Eyes himself, singing off-key and loud.

She likes to kiss her in the moment, spouting pretty lines of poetry from some movies you just can't forget, giggling and smiling and drinking too much champagne.

And, because of this, Olette knows all the lines from Casablanca by heart; she knows of Monroe, DiMaggio, and how potent a smell cigarettes can leave in the sheets.

She knows that when Kairi was just a little girl she wanted that—something like love, something eternal, never ending, something beautiful.

And Olette, when they curled in bed after a long night and it's just the two of them, Repliku howling at the moon; she imagines that they achieved that.

(That classic Hollywood romance; kisses that shake the foundation they walk on and witty dialogue and, most importantly, _love_.)

* * *

_Oh, come-on you lazy bum, we're going to be late_. Kairi drags her through crowded streets, weaving past cars stuck in traffic, and taking detours that only get them lost rather than shave a few minutes off their trip.

The whole time, Olette is pouting. _It's going to be awkward_, she said, tried to hide the jealousy she felt, even after all these years, _You loved them_.

She's talking about Sora and Riku and the times they had—the three of them, on the Island—and Kairi can't hide the chuckle that bubbles forth.

_But I love_ you _now_, Kairi argued, dragging her along with a peck on the cheek and the sound of their heel clicking against the linoleum. _And I'll make it worth your while_.

Olette giggled, _You better_, sneaking a kiss to her lips.

* * *

Some very wise, wise person once said: Life's a part, so we might as well dance.

Thirty minutes into the party, Kairi grabs Olette's hand and drags her from her conversation with Roxas (who, thankfully, didn't put up much of a fight letting her go—not as much as he did when Axel plopped down next to him).

Laughing, swaying to the beat, the pulse, of the music around them.

_I love you, baby_, she whispers between them and it might just be the shots of vodka before or the fact that it _hurt_ seeing them together—Sora and Riku; just a tiny, inescapable void—and it had been so long since that last time. _I love you_.

And she means it more and more with each day that goes by.

Olette, hugging Kairi close to her, presses her cheek to the hollow of her throat, kissing any skin exposed to her, whispering, I_ know, baby, I know_—_I love you, too_.

* * *

They leave later than they wanted to or expected, welcomed by the sound of Repliku's whines and cries.

He's just a baby in their big apartment—alone and lost without his mommies.

_Oh, baby, you where such a good sport_, Olette cooed, scooping the little terrier into her arms like a baby. _Mommy loves you so, so much and we promise not to leave you alone for so long next time_. _Love you, love you, baby_.

Kairi imagines that a part of it is for her.

And Old Blue Eyes croons: _New York_, _New York_.

* * *

She wakes with a pulsating headache and her hair in tangles. Her make-up smudged and lipstick tattooed to the sheets and their skin like rose petals scattered about.

She looks to her side, Repliku spread out between them and Olette curled on her side, her hair just as messy and her eyeliner running, and thinks this is what it's like to be surrounded, bathed in, by love.

_Good morning_, _sunshine_, she whispers, curls up back beneath the sheets and takes Olette's hand in her own.

* * *

**Challenge:** Kairi/Olette, Riku Replica, and "Life is a party, so we might as well dance."

**Author's Note:** OH MY GOD THIS IS SO RUSHED. I'M SORRY THAT THIS KINDA SUCKS LOREN A-AND THAT I SHOULD NOT DO CONTEST!FIC EVER AGAIN.

Oh, and it's bad. Will probably rewrite this in the near, near future and, um, in the immortal words of Tim Gunn, _make it work_. But, you know. For now it's a crappy entry. I AM SO SORRY LOREN! D': – pixie paramount (3/16/2008, 8:51 PM)


End file.
